Questions
by bookgodess15
Summary: Even at four years old, little Greg House is asking questions about everything... it's just a natural curiosity. Some of his questions, however, are less than conventional and leave Blythe in very awkward positions.
1. Baths of Chocolate

**Author's Notes: **Hello everyone! This is a cute little story, based on a memory I have from when I was about four years old. This is almost written verbatim of my memory, with the exception of the characters. Please also know that I am not racist and am not intending to offend anyone. It's a four-year-old who doesn't know any better... Anyways, enjoy!**  
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**Questions**

Gregory House had never seen anything like it before.

He was standing on an elevator with his mother, and when the doors had opened on the second floor, the man had walked in. As the elevator continued its ascent upwards, Greg stared. The man was tall, even taller than Greg's father, and he had to crane his four-year-old neck all the way back just to see the man's face. But it was no the man's considerable height that held him in rapture... it was his skin.

"Mom," he said, tugging on his mother's dress to get her attention. "Mom!"

"What is it?" she asked, looking down to him and grasping his hand to pry it away from the folds of her dress.

"Look," Greg said, pointing to the man. "Look at his skin!"

"Greg!" his mother admonished.

He stared up at his mother in confusion. "But Mom, _look_! It's such a weird color!"

"I'm so sorry," his mother said in a low voice to the dark man. Greg wondered if she thought that the dark man was angry, but he didn't know why she would think that—really, the dark man looked more amused than angry. His dark eyes seemed so dark and shiny, like his skin, that Greg wondered if he would see his reflection in them.

"It's so dark," he tried to explain... why wouldn't his mother understand? "See? Mom, look at it!" Greg urged, pointing at the man once with his tiny hands.

"Gregory Allen House, you are being rude and I will not stand for it," his mother said sternly.

Greg fell silent, but the curiosity burning inside of him made him continue to stare up at him. He wondered why the man's skin was the color of coffee beans, when his was like the color of the peaches that grew in their backyard. Maybe there was something wrong with this man... Greg had a cousin that couldn't see. Maybe it was something like that—the man had just been born with skin like that. Or maybe it was the result of some kind of illness that he'd been exposed to. Or it could have been...

Greg reached out to touch the man's hand. For a moment, he wondered if his fingers would turn the same dark color if he touched it, but the thought was secondary to his curiosity. He touched the hand, and was surprised to find that it felt the same as touching his father's hands.

The man looked down at him in surprise.

"Do you take baths in chocolate?"

The man stared at him for a minute, and then a wide grin spread over his face and a great, booming laughter filled the elevator. Greg stared up at him with his eyes wide in confusion. He was about to ask the man what was so funny, when the elevator doors opened and his mother whisked him away.


	2. Who's God?

**Author's Notes: **Another idea that took hold while I was doing my review replies... I won't stick a 'Complete' sticker on this, because I'll probably add chapters as the inspiration strikes - anyone with stories is welcome to share. These are so much fun to write!

**Questions**

**Chapter 2**

They were shopping for his cousin's birthday present.

Greg had never met this cousin, but he knew that she was a year older than him and that she was girl. _Girls_. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. He hated girls and their stupid games... His mother had dragged him along into the toy store and wouldn't let him go look at the spaceships and sports stuff until she'd picked out his cousin's birthday present. There seemed to be endless aisles of pink dolls and sparkling tutus that made Greg want to gag.

He leaned against a pile of teddy bears while his mother paused to examine the price of a doll. He crossed his arms impatiently.

"Mom," he whined, "Can't you hurry up?"

"Have patience, Greg," his mother said calmly, not even looking around.

Dejectedly, Greg picked up one of the teddy bears by its leg and watched it swing between his fingers. He looked down the aisle and out of the store, to the store across from the toy store.

"Who's God?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" his mother asked, sounding surprised.

"God," Greg repeated. "Is he Dad's boss?"

His mother laughed. "No, Greg. God isn't his boss—don't you remember going to church last year, when we were in Maine?"

"No," Greg said, but he did remember... kind of. But church hadn't had anything to do with God. The only thing he remembered was the priest talking about how they were all going to die. Greg had wondered what the word 'die' meant, but he hadn't wanted to ask because it didn't sound very nice. "Is God... in the Air Force?"

"No! Greg, where are you getting these ideas?" his mother asked. She didn't sound truly angry, more like she was concerned.

"Nowhere," Greg said honestly. He didn't understand what the big deal was. "Is God a Com—a, um, _Comunitist_?" he asked, stumbling over the large word. He didn't think that was right.

"A what?" his mother asked, her expression changing from concerned to perplexed.

"A Comunitist," Greg repeated. "The stuffs that Dad's always talking about, over in, um, those places..."

"A _Communist?_" his mother exclaimed.

"Yeah!" Greg said, lighting up as he heard the word said correctly. "Is he that?"

"Greg, where are all of these questions coming from?" his mother asked, fixing him with a stare.

"Dad doesn't like God, Mom," Greg explained. "He's always saying 'God damn it' and stuff when he's mad. So I thought he might be his boss, or maybe in the Air Force, 'cause Dad doesn't like the Air Force neither."

For a moment, his mother could only stare at him. Then she began to shake her head and laugh.

"What?" Greg asked, wanting to know what was so funny. But his mother kept laughing, so he wandered away in search of someone else to answer his question. Halfway down the aisle, he found one of the store ladies and tugged on her blue smock.

"Hello!" she said pleasantly, looking down at him. "Where's your Mommy at?"

"Who's God?"

The store lady's smile faded a little. "I'm sorry?" she asked, getting down on her knees so that she was eye-level with Greg. "What was that?"

"Who's God?" Greg repeated. "Mom won't tell me."

"Your Mom won't tell you?" the store lady asked, now looking puzzled. "Why not?"

"I asked her, but she started laughing." To prove his point, Greg pointed to his mother. But she had recovered from her fit of laughter, and was now scanning the area for Greg with a worried expression on her face.

"Mom!" he called, waving one arm in the air. "Over here, Mom!"

A relieved expression blossomed on his mother's face. "Greg!" she said, walking towards him.

"God is something that your mother should tell you about, sweetie," the store lady said, ruffling his hair and standing back up. "Sorry."

By the time his mother reached him, her expression had changed from relief to anger, and Greg wondered what he'd done wrong. He tried to shy away behind the store lady's legs, but his mother was too fast and caught his arm.

"Gregory, I don't want you to ever wander away from me again!" his mother said, pulling him away from the store lady. "I didn't know where you were, if you'd left the store, if you were lost—"

"But Mom, I—"

"No buts, Gregory. Now you sit right here," she pointed to the floor, next to where she was standing, "until I've finished picking out your cousin's birthday present, and then we're going straight home."

"But you said I could look at the spaceships!" Greg protested immediately, looking down to the end of the aisle longingly, where a display of action figures and models seemed to call to him.

"Not after that stunt, you're not," his mother told him firmly. She returned to the shelves of toys.

Greg sighed and tried not to let tears come to his eyes. All he'd wanted was to know the answer to his question, and now he couldn't have that _and_ he wasn't allowed to see the spaceships. He hadn't been the whole time, Greg had been very well behaved up until he'd turned to the store lady to answer his question...

Suddenly, it dawned on him that his mother had only said that he wouldn't be allowed to see the spaceships.

"Mom?" he said, looking up to her from where he sat on the floor and hoping that she wouldn't tell him to be quiet.

She did not. His mother paused and looked down at him. "What?"

"Who's God?"


	3. The Honest Truth

**Author's Notes: **Heh. So I finally got around to writing the third chapter... It's still dwelling on the 'God' issue, a bit. I apologize in advance to anyone who might be offended by my rather zealous priest. I know that most of them aren't like this, but it was necessary for the story. Also, please say a prayer for my friend, who is having a very rough time in her life right now - her father shot her mother, and then shot himself today... it's just awful. And if you don't believe in prayer, then maybe a little positive energy or good wishes her way... Thank you.**  
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**Questions**

**Chapter 3**

Greg was in church, for the first time that he could ever remember. Church hadn't sounded so bad when his mother had told him about it, but so far, it had been nothing but boring people talking and old ladies singing weird songs. He leaned back against the uncomfortable wooden pew, trying not to swing his legs and attract the attention of his father, who was seated next to him. Greg remembered the conversation that he'd heard a few nights ago, when the idea of 'church' had first come up.

"_John, I don't think it's such a bad idea..."_

"_What do we need some church for? All they're going to do is beg us for money, anyway."_

"_Greg was asking me who God was the other day! If we only went once or twice, so he wouldn't be so curious over the whole matter..."_

"_The boy asks five billion questions a day. I think it's a waste of time."_

"_Are you doing anything on Sunday morning?"_

"_Well..."_

"_So it wouldn't be a big effort for us to go the base church—it's only a walk down the street, John. And it's been so long since we went to a church, I think our wedding was the last time."_

"_I suppose."_

"_And another thing; have you been swearing around Greg? He said that you were always saying 'god damn it' and I'm worried that..."_

"Do you people see what I'm _talking_ about!"

Greg jumped as the booming voice startled him out of his thoughts. Up in the pulpit, the priest was talking... or rather, shouting. He had a book held in one hand, and his other hand was tightly clenched into a fist, and his face was contorted in fury.

"I see things like this, and I wonder, what is the world coming to?" the priest demanded, banging his fist down on one of the rails that encircled the pulpit, which seemed to be the only thing keeping him in. "Is this the sort of place that Jesus intended us to live with? _No!_ My brothers and sisters, I urge you to see what the Devil has done to our wonderful world! We must make the _blind_ to _see!_"

Greg drew back at the loud voice, frightened, while the priest swung the arm with the book in it wildly. He wondered if his fingers might slip, and the book would go flying across the church and hit someone. Worried, he tapped his mother.

"Mom?" he asked.

"Shh..." she whispered, pushing his hand down without ever taking her eyes off of the priest.

"Do you believe that Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, was nailed to a cross and savagely crucified so that we could sit here and rot in _gluttony_ and _sloth_? Do your duties as a Catholic and spread the word! Be a _messenger—of—God!_" the priest screamed, the book in his hand slamming down on the podium loudly with each syllable.

"Mom," Greg whispered again, more urgently as the fear rose up inside of him once more. He glanced nervously to his father, and then to the insane priest. "Why's he being so strange? He looks like he wants to kill somebody."

The priest stopped talking suddenly, and Greg suddenly realized that he was staring at him. With a gulp, he tried to shrink back behind his mother. "You boy!" the priest called, lowering the book while the anger in his face intensified. "What are you saying?"

"I was..." Greg whispered, and then he swallowed and summed his courage. "I was asking my mom what why you were being so strange!" he said loudly, his voice carrying to the far corners of the church. "I told you looked like you wanted to kill someone!"

For a moment, there was perfect, ringing silence. Even the priest seemed completely speechless, and Greg wondered why. He hadn't lied; he'd told the truth and answered the question, just like his father had always taught him to do. Then there was a snort, and suddenly Greg was swept up by his mother, who began briskly walking towards the door. Over her shoulder, Greg could see his father following, but he was still confused.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked, not understand why so many people were chuckling. "He asked me a question..."

His mother did not answer as she pushed open the door, but as they left the church, Greg could hear the priest's voice echoing once more.

"Do you all see that? This is _exactly_ what the problem is..."


	4. Dick & Jane

**Author's Notes: **Here we go! This was inspired by my job at the library - I shelve children's books, and someone returned _The Treasury of Dick and Jane_... and for anyone who understands the infamy of this book, I just had to pick it up and started reading it. What mini!House is reading are direct quotes. I kid you not. I cannot imagine reading this to my child. But anyways, enjoy!

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**Questions**

**Part 4**

Gregory House was excited.

All of his mother's friends were over today to talk about their husbands and the latest issue of _Better Homes & Gardens _while they drank lemonade and ate bologna sandwiches on fancy croissants. Greg could hear the tinkling of glass cups and fine china plates from his bedroom, and smiled as he grabbed the plastic book with his little hands and padded out of his room.

"Mom?" he called, walking out to the dining room were the conversation still upon his arrival. Scanning the powdered and painted faces of the ladies, he quickly found his mother and went to her. "Hi Mom."

"Aren't you going to say hello to me, too, Greg?" a woman with big black hair asked him, her voice loud and boisterous.

"Hello," Greg mumbled. He wondered who she was, but then he remembered why he had come out here. "Mom, can I read my book?" he asked, pushing the book on to his mother's lap.

"Of course, Greg," his mother said, looking surprised. "Who told you that you couldn't?"

"I wanna read to them," Greg said, looking around the table at all the women. "Please, Mom? I practiced _all_ morning—really hard!" He stuck out his lower lip and made his blue eyes as wide as they could go.

Some of the ladies chuckled, and his mother smiled. "Would you mind?" she asked, looking around the table at her friends. When a consensus of 'no' reached her ears, she looked down to Greg and nodded with a smile. "Go ahead."

Grinning widely, Greg grabbed the book and held it up so that they all could see it. "I can read," he said proudly, and then opened the book and carefully began to read. "See... Jane. See Dick."

"Oh, just look at him Blythe!" of the women exclaimed. "Reading at four—he's going to go places, you mark my words..."

Greg tried to ignore her and kept reading, but a stream of pride shot through him. "See Jane play. See Dick play. See Jane play w—_with_ Dick."

There was a collective gasp, and Greg looked up at the shocked faces.

"What?" he asked, looking at this mother's embarrassed face. "What did I do wrong? I was reading good, wasn't I?"

"You were reading fine, Greg," his mother said encouragingly. "Go ahead."

Reassured, Greg looked back down to the pages of his book and continued. "Jane is... s... sm—small. Dick is small."

There was another series of gasping, and Greg looked up in confusion.

"What?" he asked again, feeling frustrated that he didn't understand why they kept doing this.

"Greg, honey," his mother said after a moment, "why don't you go choose a different book to—"

"No!" Greg protested immediately. "I like _this_ one. I practiced really hard, Mom." He crossed his arms and jutted out his jaw stubbornly, like he'd seen his father do.

His mother sighed. "All right. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought that for you..."

Satisfied now, Greg opened the book and began reading again. "Dick and Jane go to the... the pool. Jane sw—_swims_. Dick swims. Jane is wet. Dick is wet."

This time, there was the sound of smothered laughter, and Greg looked up in annoyance. "Mom!" he complained, whose face was nearing mortification.

"Greg, why don't you go along and play? I think that Jimmy Nelson is—"

"Please, Mom?" Greg begged. "_Please_? Can I finish reading?" He had been working hard on it for so long, and he was the only four-year-old on the base who could read.

"Let him, Blythe," one of the younger ladies persuaded. "I like this story," she added with a little giggle.

"I suppose," his mother said, finally relenting.

Greg hasted to continue before she could change her mind. "Dick and Jane go home. C—come, Jane, come. Come, Dick, come."

"Greg!" his mother cried, sounding scandalized. "Give me that book!" She snatched it out of his hands.

"But Mom—"

"No! Out with you!" his mother said, standing up and carrying him by the wrists out of the room, depositing him in his room. She shut the door on her way out, muttering to herself, "I'm throwing that book in the trash..."

And poor Greg could only wonder what he'd done wrong.


	5. Don't Yell

**Author's Notes: **Hello! Thanks to everyone who's been reading this -- I really appreciate the reviews I've been receiving. Unfortunately, after this one, my inspiration for these is... nonexistent. Anyone with a cute story is welcome to share, and I'll see if I can work with it. Just leave it in a review or send it in a PM, or you can email me. Thanks again, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

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**Questions**

**Chapter 5**

Blythe House was a firm believer in spring cleaning. It was her preparation for the summer, the time when she could get rid all the damages done by her rambunctious child, who had been contained to the house all winter long with nowhere to spend his energy. Scuff marks on the walls from bouncing balls against it, a mess of a bookcase from it being knocked over so many without the books inside of it being properly reordered, dried paint on the kitchen floor… She loved her son, but some days, she was grateful for nothing but the fact that they lived next to a baseball park.

Right now, she was on her hands and knees in the kitchen, scrubbing a spot where Greg had dropped a pitcher of grape juice and left the white floor sticky and splotchy with purple. She had finished doing the living room carpeting (somehow, there had been melted crayon embedded into the carpet underneath the rug) and hosing off the front porch from the dead leaves that had been unable to decompose on the concrete. After this, she planned on tackling her bedroom—possibly the most unaffected area of the house—and then her son's room. She shuddered to even think about that.

"Mom!" she heard Greg scream, clearly from outside.

Blythe paused, rag in one hand, and then sat back on her knees. She was about to answer, when Greg shouted again.

"_Mom!_" Now he sounded annoyed.

"Greg, you don't need to yell!" Blythe called. He did this everyday, shouting from the front porch because he wanted her to come and see a new shell that he'd discovered. "Just come in here and tell me!"

She heard Greg sigh, and then the screen door banged as he opened it. She bent back over and continued working at the purple stains on the floor, listening as Greg's sneakers came closer to the kitchen. When she heard him stop, Blythe didn't even look up as she asked him, "What is it?"

"I stepped in dog poop. Where's the hose?"


End file.
